What kind of a monster of a father sacrifices his son, his only begotten son, on the altar of his love of another? A mother would never do such a thing! And I, for one, can’t imagine any reason why I’d sacrifice either of my only begotten sons. I really can’t stand this god, this god of the New Testament, who can love the whole world. He maketh no fucking sense to me.
But can you really fault me for this, friend? Don’t we so often hate things we don’t understand, almost as much as we hate those who remind us of our own limitations? Besides, in my experience, people who say they love everyone don’t love anyone well. And don’t we so often hate those who challenge our experience, our knowledge, our wisdom, almost as much as we hate those who remind us of how little we really know?
Maybe that’s why I’ve always preferred the grumpy god of the Old Testament: a moody god who smites his enemies, plays favorites, and loses his shit from time to time. I can relate to this needy god, who desperately craves validation and hurts his chosen people the most. This broken, faulted, insecure god makes sense to me, a god who builds sand castles of love and longing in the honey light of the afternoon, who showers his holy lands with tears of rage at night, and paints the morning skies with rainbows of regret.
—John Faithful Hamer, The Book of the Dead (2018)